


Beauty and the Beast, but Good Omens, I Guess?

by snarkysnakes



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Aziraphale and Anathema are bffs, Aziraphale is looking for Agnes Nutter's book, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Beelzebub and Crowley are bffs, Beelzebub is a Venus fly trap, Blushing, Crowley was cursed by God, Demon Crowley (Good Omens), First Kiss, Gabriel is an asshole in this one fellas, God likes to have fun, Happy Ending, I like puns, Love Confessions, M/M, Madame Tracy is Aziraphale's mom, Moral Dilemmas, Priest Aziraphale (Good Omens), Spoiler: he doesn't find it, This Is STUPID, i'm not bashing on religion i swear, instead of a rose it's a candle, just having fun, no Stockholm Syndrome, not very angsty tho, teen bc drinking and language, tw: death and blood, you know what happens to Gabe fellas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:07:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 13,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24525118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarkysnakes/pseuds/snarkysnakes
Summary: In which Crowley is a snakey demon, Aziraphale is a priest on a mission, and they fall in love without the Stockholm syndrome aspect because I hate it.I may write an epilogue for this some day but I uhhhhhh went to college and got swamped :(
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 39
Kudos: 88





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This one isn't serious. It's just a silly creative outlet to relieve stress. Hopefully it'll be a little enjoyable? I'm warning you: it IS stupid!

### Aziraphale, the Priest

_Once upon a time, in a far away land, a handsome young noble lived in a beautiful castle. Although he had everything his heart desired, the noble was uncouth and rebellious. He was shunned from the Church and scolded by his mother and father. One night, an old disciple came to the castle and offered him a single enchanted candle in return for shelter. Unable to separate the disciple from the old woman, he dismissed her. But the disciple warned against his discompassion, revealing herself as God in disguise. The noble tried to apologize, but it was too late. For She had seen that there was no love in his heart. She placed him under a powerful curse, transforming him into a treacherous demon. Disgusted by himself, the noble hid away in his castle, unable to see the outside world but through a small, enchanted mirror._

_The candle God had offered was truly an enchanted candle, which would slowly melt until his 21st year. If he could learn to love another and earn their love in return, before the candle snuffed, the curse would be broken. But if he didn’t, he would be doomed to remain a beast for all time. The noble soon lost all hope._ _For who could ever learn to love a beast?_

\---

Aziraphale placed his book down with a sigh. He straightened his robes as he stood, disappointed to leave the library so early. He rarely got time to himself, let alone to read. 

He nodded to the bookkeeper as he left. He didn’t want to be late, lest he endure another lecture from Pope Gabriel. The man accused Aziraphale of sloth and gluttony, though he himself was selfish. It was quite hypocritical, if Aziraphale could say. 

Aziraphale was a homey young priest of 20 years with white-blonde hair and light eyes. As a rule, he wasn’t allowed to marry, but he didn’t much mind. He’d never been interested in marrying a young woman and settling down. He liked living with his mother in his small village with his small book collection. He seldom ever left, save for missions to other villages, which he quite liked. It was enjoyable to have a change in scenery now and then. 

Aziraphale reached the double doors of the Church and hurried inside. He was immediately caught by Pope Gabriel.

“Father Aziraphale!” the man said, smiling placidly. “Reading I presume?”

“Yes. I’m sorry. I hurried back as soon as I could-”

“How many times must I tell you not to read that rubbish?” Gabriel asked, not waiting for an answer before moving on. “No matter. I wanted to speak with you about your mother.”

Aziraphale’s stomach dropped. _The laughing stock of the village_. “Pope Gabriel, you know Tracy is unwell.”

The man waved him off. “Yes, yes. I know. But yesterday, while you were at the neighboring village, she busted through these doors rambling about a book! It was quite interesting - she claimed it had information of the End Times. Aziraphale, if this is true, do you know how good this could be for the Church?”

“It - I - yes,” the priest winced. He knew whatever his mother was referring to was probably some kind of fairy tale. But once Gabriel had an idea, he never let it go until it was carried out. And Aziraphale was about to be his carrier. “What else did she say?”

“She said to go North! Isn’t that the most peculiar thing?”

“But - there’s nothing up North! It’s a barren wasteland!”

“Precisely! Which is why,” Gabriel said, smiling brightly now, “I need someone like _you_ to investigate. If there is such a book up there, we could be in God’s favor for all of eternity! You’d be up in the ranks of Michael and Uriel. Your mother would be ecstatic! Imagine that! What more could you want?”

 _I want my mother to be safe_. And if Aziraphale didn’t accept this mission, Gabriel would terrorize her even more. That was the last thing she needed. 

“I . . . alright. I’ll - I’ll do it. But only because it would help the Church,” he added hastily. 

“I knew you’d agree! Always ready to prove yourself to us. Wonderful!” Pope Gabriel clapped his hands together, looked around. “Yes. I will prepare Phillip for you. You shall leave tomorrow morning!”

\--- 

Aziraphale sighed, shutting the door behind him. _Home at last_ , he thought. He puttered around, organizing a few things. Between the two of them, there was quite a lot of clutter. 

“Mother?” Aziraphale called, walking down the hall to her room. “I, er, talked to Pope Gabriel today. Something about an End Times book?”

He knocked on her bedroom door. No answer. He cracked it open. His mother was seated at the end of her bed, staring off at the floor. Aziraphale sighed and laid a hand on her shoulder. That seemed to work. 

“Oh! Oh, my boy. Hello,” she said sweetly, but her eyes were glassy. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“You didn’t hear me call for you?”

“Oh, goodness, no. I was much too busy . . . ,” she trailed. Judging by how she was merely sitting there when he walked in, he assumed ‘busy’ meant thinking. “Did you know, my dear boy, that you have the loveliest aura? A beautiful shade of blue.”

 _Alright. God, please help her_ , Aziraphale prayed. “Mother, listen. I . . . I’ll be traveling for a few days. I don’t know when I’ll be back. I’ve asked Anathema to stay with you-”

“Oh! Anathema! What a lovely girl. She taught me about auras, you know.”

“I didn't know," Aziraphale replied, smiling weakly. "I'm going North, though you may know about that-”

“No! Oh, no, Zira,” his mother said abruptly. “Don’t tell me it’s about that book I told that wicked man about earlier.”

“He isn’t wicked, mother. But, well, I’ve been commissioned to find it. But don’t worry! A change in scenery would be . . . nice.”

“No, no, no. Oh, you mustn't go! I sense something terrible is up North!”

“It’s nothing God wouldn’t protect me from, surely.”

Tracy opened her bedside drawer and brought out a dagger. “Take this with you!”

“I - _mother_! You know I could never!"

“Please,” Tracy said, shoving the dagger toward him. “For me.”

Aziraphale hung his head. “Okay,” he whispered, tucking it into his robes.

They prepared dinner together. Madame Tracy talked idly about a dream she had. He would have to tell Anathema to take the witchcraft down a notch around his mother. Aziraphale and Anathema were childhood friends and complete opposites, divided onto two different paths of spirituality. But Aziraphale had always accepted Anathema for what she was, protected her from Gabriel’s scrutiny. She was grateful, and would do anything for him. Thankfully so, because he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to leave his mother again after this. 

Tomorrow, he would go North.


	2. A Start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our boys meet!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, this is to relieve stress. Just a little fun. As many of you may know, the turmoil in America is unprecedented. If you have any way to help contribute to the BLM cause, please do. Even signing a petition means something.

After saying goodbye to his mother and thanking Anathema, Aziraphale headed to the Church to meet Gabriel. The pope gave him the directive and handed over a horse named Phillip. The priest mounted him and rode off North. 

He didn't blame his mother for this journey. After all, Gabriel wanted the book in the first place - that is, if it even existed. Aziraphale supposed he should truly be grateful for a break from the droning of the village. Phillip was a good travel companion and let him talk however much he wanted, though he didn't really have a say in the matter.

Yes, the priest had always tried to prove himself worthy to the Church, prove that he was a good priest to Gabriel. He didn't think he'd be sent away just like _that_ , though. Who knew what was up North? If his mother really sensed something evil, he was in for a rough time. He hoped his prayers would be enough - he really didn't want to use the dagger. He'd tucked it away into the parcel on Phillip's back, trying to ease his conscience. 

After an entire day of traveling, it was starting to get dark, but Aziraphale didn't want to stop. He just wanted to find what he needed and get back home. So when he entered some dense woods at the outskirts of the chain of villages, he thought that maybe he was getting somewhere. 

Aziraphale eyed the snow on the ground. _Strange_ , he thought. It really didn't snow back home - he must've traveled a ways! He could spot a clearing ahead and hoped there was something there. Perhaps a cottage? That would be nice.

But instead, what stood before him when he met the clearing was a tall, dark castle. The air around it loomed with evil energy. Aziraphale gasped, but he refused to stand down. This was the only place around for miles, and if there in fact was a mysterious book, it would _have_ to be here. 

Aziraphale dismounted Phillip and tied him up by the double doors of the castle. His fist hovered hesitantly in front of the doors as he debated whether he should knock. When he looked down, he could see the door handles: metal, molded into hissing snakes. Lovely. He decided against knocking. 

"Hello?" he called, shifting from foot to foot in the snow. "I come from a village southward from here. I was wondering if I could ask a few questions? If it wouldn't be a bother, of course!"

Judging by the looks of the castle, it would absolutely be a bother. The priest startled when the doors creaked open, ever so slightly. He peeked through to greet the keeper, but there was no one there. A gust of wind opened the doors wider, and Aziraphale took a single step into the foyer. He surveyed the lit fireplace, some rustling plants. Someone had to live here. 

"Hello? I'm afraid your doors are rather broken," he laughed nervously. "Um, er, I'm terribly sorry if I'm intruding, but I could really use help. You see, I'm looking for a book abou-"

He couldn't finish his sentence. In the blink of an eye, something had coiled around his neck, constricting his air supply. Aziraphale scrambled for his dagger, only to realize he'd left it with Phillip. 

_Oh. Fuck!_ he thought miserably, and promptly passed out. 

\---

When the priest came to, something was tickling his face. It felt like . . . hay? He sat up quickly, head swinging as his vision turned black again. 

"Good grief, don't get your robes in a bunch, priest," a voice said. Aziraphale blinked in its general direction but could only see a dark corridor. "You'll pass out again at this rate."

"W-Who are you?" Aziraphale asked shakily. "Where am I?"

"Why, in the castle you so rudely trespassed, lamb." The priest reeled. The voice was most certainly male, but there was a strange hiss to it that distorted its humaneness. Could it be his imagination? "Come to kill me, have you?" the man continued. 

"What? N-No! I _couldn't_ , I left my weapon with my horse!"

"Horse?"

"Yes. A brown one. He's outside right now."

"There's no horse outside, priest."

Aziraphale was going to pass out again. "Th-that's impossible! I tied him up! I . . . ." The shadows were silent as he stammered. "You must think I'm lying. I'm not! It's a sin!"

"Yes, you would know all about that, wouldn't you?" the man snarled, stepping into the light of the dimly lit torches. Aziraphale yelped, staggering backward. 

Whoever this was was not a _man_ , at least, not anymore. His physique could have suggested he once was, if it weren't for the features that covered every inch of his body. Twisting horns, scaly skin, serpentine eyes. He looked like . . . well, a demon. _God protect me_ , Aziraphale prayed in horror. 

"I'm not here to kill you!" he squeaked. "I-I don't know if you've noticed, but, I'm not as _w-well equipped_ as you."

The demon's face slackened as he contemplated this very obvious fact. He laughed. He laughed again, exposing glinting fangs. Aziraphale stared in disbelief. Had he cracked a joke?

"No, lamb, I suppose you aren't," the demon said, grinning devilishly. The lock clicked, and the cell door swung open. "Alright. I believe you."

"J-Just like that? What if I tell people about you?"

"They'd never believe you. Demons don't go flouncing around Earth, you know."

"I don't know. But thank you," Aziraphale said politely. The demon just stared at him with his golden, unsettling eyes. _He must be playing with his food. I have to get out of here._

He apparently had no horse, which meant no weapon. It was night, it was snowing. But without further ado, the priest ran for the exit as fast as he could. He was better of facing whatever was out there than a literal demon. 

"Uh, I wouldn't go just yet!" the demon called after him. "The wolves are out this time of night!"

Aziraphale ignored him.

\---

"Dumb fucking priest," the demon grumbled. Did he _have_ to rescue the priest? No. _But it would be the right thing to do_ , as his mother would have told him. 

He stormed down the foyer, his plants trembling as he did. "Stop talking," he snapped at them.

\---

Aziraphale had never run so much in his life, and that was quickly catching up to him. He'd only been a few minutes into the woods when he heard the wolves. There was really only one thing to do - kneel and wait for his demise. What was he supposed to do, fight them? He wouldn't stand a chance! Then again, he wouldn't have stood a chance against the demon, either. No, this was a much better way to die. 

He could see them slowly stalking forward, growling deep in their throats. He wouldn't fight back. 

_I'm sorry, mother. I tried._

Two things happened at once - the alpha wolf lunged forward, and a blur of black tackled it to the side. Aziraphale screamed as he watched the demon sink his fangs into the wolves side. It whimpered in his jaws. The others up on the hills jumped down to aid their leader. The demon was quickly outnumbered, but he thrashed at them anyway, his snakelike hissing warding them off. He'd suffered a few pounces before the last of the wolves scurried away. 

The demon's eyes landed on Aziraphale's before he fell to the ground in a useless heap. Blood gushed onto the snow, staining it red. The priest took a shaky breath. Why would a demon help him? It must've been some kind of trick, some kind of ruse. Aziraphale could keep running - it would be the smartest thing to do, surely. He could get help. But who would believe him? A priest who cried demon? 

He cautiously crept over to the demon and crouched, inspecting his wounds. They were deep gashes, bound to get an infection. When he looked closer, he could see the intricate red and black scales over his arms. Aziraphale sighed, arguing with himself. Should he help this demon? The poor thing did help him . . . oh, he was going to regret this. 

Aziraphale dragged the demon's limp body back up the hill and into the castle.


	3. Name's Crowley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale wraps Crowley's wounds and vaguely argues with himself.

Aziraphale watched the demon sleep with slight guilt. His gashes were claw-shaped, stretching across his arms, back, and chest. He had expected this menace to be exactly that - one that would kill him the first chance he got. Yet he’d let him go, fought off the hungry wolves. And for what? Was it some kind of sick joke? A trick?

The priest had indeed dragged the horned beast back to his castle. He’d rested him against a chaise. He just couldn’t find it in himself to leave his rescuer bleeding in the snow. But he was aware of the risk he was taking, and the pleading with God he’d have to do later. Would God approve of aiding a demon? To him, it seemed like the _graceful_ thing to do - but this was a hereditary enemy, after all. 

“Wake up,” Aziraphale said gently, laying a hand on the demon’s shoulder. 

“Ngk,” the demon grumbled. He blindly swatted at Aziraphale’s hand. “Lemme sleep.”

“You’re bleeding profusely, my dear!”

The demon cracked an eye open, surveyed himself. “Not a deer,” he muttered dumbly. “S’not that bad, anyway.”

“Not _bad_? These gashes are bound to get an infection!” the priest gasped. He didn’t back down from the demon’s now glowering look. As far as he could tell, it looked almost like a pout. 

“Wouldn’t my _evil, demonic body_ harm your _holy, angelic_ one?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Aziraphale said under his breath. _Wait, did he just call me an angel?_

He tried to convince himself this was the right thing to do - help the bitter thing and then go on his way. With a steadily heating face, Aziraphale realized he would have to touch the demon's chest and arms. He’d never touched anyone like that before. Oh, what would Gabriel say? 

_Nothing good._

Aziraphale had never been a very good priest. He tried his best to follow the rules, but sometimes he gave blessings and married villagers in secret, simply because it wasn’t allowed. He always read a bit too much, ate a bit too much, relished in the finer things a bit too much. And, well, there was always that wrong attraction lingering in the back of his mind . . . .

Aziraphale sighed. “I’m going to wash the blood off,” he said. 

When the cloth landed, the demon hissed and moved away. “That hurts.”

“Well it wouldn’t hurt so much if you sat still. Stop whining. Aren’t you a thousand years old?”

“No,” the demon said, looking offended. “I’m quite young.”

“Fine. I - I know it hurts. But . . . it’ll feel a lot better once I’m finished. I promise.” 

He spared the demon a glance and immediately regretted it. His golden eyes were mesmerizing, even more so in the firelight. He’d gotten several good looks at them already, but the demon was staring at him now. Aziraphale huffed and busied himself with the water basin. It got bloodier with each dip. Eventually, the demon looked away and quieted down. 

Aziraphale tried for conversation, learned the demon’s name was Crowley. Crowley didn’t talk much, but he listened to Aziraphale ramble about books. 

“UGH,” Crowley spat suddenly, imitating a gag. “I hate that one.”

Aziraphale perked up, forgetting himself and the situation he was in. “ _Hamlet_? You read Shakespeare?”

“I only like the funny ones.”

The priest couldn’t help but let out an amused hum. A demon that reads Shakespeare. Imagine that! 

Aziraphale wrapped Crowley’s body, unable to hide his curiosity at the red and black scales that littered it. They were intricate, like a snake’s. In fact, everything about the demon screamed snake. _Which is just . . . even worse_. He was very aware what the Serpent of Eden could do. Not that this demon was a tempter. If anything, he was an obnoxious child. 

“Get some rest,” Aziraphale said, moving to occupy a chair. 

Crowley lifted his head in the priest’s direction. “You don’t have to stay, priest. I can handle myself.”

“It’s only until you feel tip-top again.”

“Why? You . . . your kind should kill the likes of me.”

“Well, it’s my way of saying thank you. For saving my life tonight.”

The demon looked shocked. “Oh. Ngk. Er, no problem, angel.”

"I'm not - never mind," Aziraphale muttered - because Crowley had already leaned back and closed his eyes. 

Aziraphale moved his eyes to the fireplace and sighed once more. What was he doing? He was sure, now, that this strange demon wouldn't attack him. By tomorrow morning, the priest would leave and be on his way. Something told him he wasn't going to find what he needed here. He hoped it was God telling him to forget about this whole ordeal and move on with his life as if it never happened. Oh, was he tired.


	4. The Library

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale decides to stay a little longer after Crowley shows him the library. Just to find any evidence of the book, of course.

Crowley watched Aziraphale putter around the garden terrace. He was walking Bentley, Crowley's black stallion, around the rose bushes. His golden hair looked very much like an angel's halo in the morning light. 

It had been two days since this strange priest showed up to his castle. Since he had insisted on staying, Crowley had shown him a room, the kitchen. He had hoped it was sufficient enough. After all, he hadn't had company in awhile. 

He never thought he'd enjoy the presence of a priest. They were the ones who had shunned him as a boy and struck hate into his heart. But Aziraphale was different. Or at least, as far as Crowley could tell. 

Crowley sighed, picked at his bandages. He knew he had to send Aziraphale on his way - but, well . . . he wanted to see if he could help him find his book first. No one had ever shown him such kindness and care as Aziraphale did these past few days (except for his own mother). He wanted to return the favor. 

Not that _Crowley_ was kind. He most certainly wasn't. 

Aziraphale stopped to coddle a rose, and Crowley scoffed. "I can hear him from here!" he growled to the plant next to him. "He's going to make you lot soft!"

 _Ah, shut up. Go talk to him already_ , the venus fly trap snapped. 

"I can't. I'm nervous - hey! Don't _laugh!_ "

_It's been two days and you're already smitten! You're a sap!_

"What _ever_ , Bee! Listen, I want to see if I can help him find that book. Got any ideas?"

_Hmm, let's see. Perhaps the library, you absolute git?_

Crowley's jaw dropped. Of course! The library had gone untouched ever since Crowley had been cursed, and it ran back for centuries. There was bound to be something of use in there. But then again, the priest was still a bit skittish. Crowley didn’t want to hold him back from his journey.

"What if he doesn't accept my offer?"

_That priest had the balls to walk right up here. Trust me - he must be very desperate to find that book._

And, well, Crowley had long since figured that the priest did love books.

\---

Aziraphale admired the roses, absentmindedly stroking Bentley's nose. He'd never imagined that such a dead-looking castle could have such life behind it. Nor a demon who wasn't very demonic. In fact, Crowley seemed . . . kind. He listened to everything Aziraphale said. The way he acted was peculiarly normal.

It was almost as if he were human. 

"Hullo, Aziraphale."

Aziraphale jumped and turned around. "Oh! Hello, Crowley. You frightened me."

"Heh. Listen, I'm pretty much healed now. I . . . I don't want to hold you any longer. But before you go, I might have something to help you find that book you mentioned - you know, before I choked you," the demon said, shifting on his feet.

Aziraphale straightened. Could he have the book? It would be very likely for a demon to possess a book about the End Times. This journey would be so much shorter. He could grab the book, go home, and finally get Gabriel off his back. He would never have to know about the demon. What could be better?

He put on what he hoped to be his prettiest smile and followed Crowley back into the castle. Crowley walked him up a flight of stairs and stopped in front of double doors. "Close your eyes," the demon said, and Aziraphale barely registered the hint of excitement in his voice. 

"Why?"

"Just do it. No peeking!"

Aziraphale hesitantly did as he was told, squeaking when he felt a hand on his back, guiding him through the doors. He opened his eyes to a scene that took his breath away.

A beautiful, ancient library stood before him, shelves filled with books of all sizes. There was a rolling ladder off to the side for easy access. Sunlight filtered in through the stained-glass windows, casting a colorful glow on the floor. 

Crowley grunted at his reaction. "Never seen a library before?"

"Oh, not like this," Aziraphale breathed, eyes wide. He could spend the rest of his life in here and never read the entire room. 

"Well, if you like it so much, it's yours. I have no use for it anyway."

"But don't you read?"

"Not nearly as much as you."

Aziraphale looked down at his hands. "I'm not allowed to read very much, you know."

"Why not?"

"Pope Gabriel says it's unbecoming of a priest to read anything but Her word."

Crowley snorted. "Gabriel sounds like a prick."

"Now, I wouldn't say _that_ ," Aziraphale gasped. "Gabriel is . . . a good man."

Aziraphale looked up at Crowley sheepishly, the statement being entirely unconvincing. The demon sensed it too, because he stared back at him with a disappointed look. But then he looked away.

"Think you can find anything of use in here?"

Aziraphale looked back at the stacks of books with newfound confidence. “Oh, absolutely! There’s bound to be something, if not the very book itself! Thank you, this is very nice of you, dear.”

Crowley jabbed a finger into Aziraphale’s chest. “I’m a demon, I’m not nice,” he scowled.

Aziraphale’s eyes flickered from the demon’s frown back up to his eyes. Was Crowley trying to intimidate him? He wasn’t doing a very good job. Maybe it was a test. The priest took Crowley’s scaled hand into his own and lowered it. 

“Fine. Thank you, this is very _demonic_ of you. Better?”

“Er, y-yeah,” the demon stammered. _Ha, I bested a demon!_ Aziraphale thought. “Use this for as long as you like, then.”

“You would let me stay awhile longer? I don’t want to be trouble!”

“This castle is plenty big for the two of us, angel.”

“Ah. Well, I’ll get a wiggle-on then!”

He heard Crowley muttering as he left Aziraphale alone in the library. Aziraphale practically bounced. He’d never had anything as luxurious as a private library before. The few books at his own home were read over and over until their covers were creased.

Aziraphale could feel a change in his chest, and he hoped it was a good thing. He hadn't felt this much himself since he was a child. It wasn't something Gabriel would approve. It's not that the priest was falling to Crowley's temptations - the demon hadn't really tried anything. But he would still have to be wary. He didn't know what this kind of interaction with a demon would earn him in Heaven. _It's only temporary. You'll find that book and leave! Simple as that._ Was it strange that he felt more comfortable here than any place he'd ever been, including the Church? Yes. But that would have to be put to the side. 

Aziraphale had a book to find and a mother to return to.


	5. Want a drink?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley get drunk, and Crowley reveals he wasn't always a demon. But that fact gets quickly washed away by more wine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Alpha Centauri wasn't discovered yet when this story takes place, but oh well.

Aziraphale stepped out onto the balcony and opened a book. He had been at this search for weeks, finding nothing. But this one looked promising - something on astronomy. He hoped it had something useful inside. Anathema would often talk about planet alignments and how that was supposed to affect his mood or something. Perhaps the planets could predict other earthly matters. 

He was about to start skimming when he caught a glimpse of Crowley. He was yelling at the rose bushes below, his threats barely discernible. 

Aziraphale smiled to himself. A demon was supposed to be menacing, hateful, atrocious. But Crowley was nothing like that. He was curious, and a good listener. The few weeks he’d stayed at the castle, the demon had never once yelled at him, or grew impatient or tired with him. For the most part, he stayed out of his way as the priest puttered about the library endlessly. 

_What would Gabriel say about this?_ The recurring question. Would he praise Aziraphale for braving a demon’s territory and tricking him into giving him the book? Well, it wasn't like that. Would he commend him and shun him for affiliating with a demon in the first place? Even if it was to get the prize? 

Aziraphale must’ve been staring below for awhile, because Crowley had noticed him up on the balcony. He waved, and Aziraphale waved back. 

Then he quickly pulled his hand down. He should _not_ be showing any signs of fondness nor friendliness toward a demon. 

Aziraphale rushed back inside. He had to find that book fast. 

\--

“Well, that was a thing,” Crowley grumbled to himself, turning his attention back to his roses. He’d waved, Aziraphale waved back, then scurried away! “He’s so weird,” he told the roses. 

They didn’t respond. _Oh right, these ones don’t talk_. That would be a headache. 

\--

A few hours later, when Crowley was seated by the fireplace, Aziraphale came wandering down the stairwell. He stopped awkwardly in the foyer. 

“Still haven’t found anything?” Crowley asked with a frown. 

“Not yet. Though I do believe I’m getting closer,” the priest replied. “You have quite a lot of astronomy books.”

“I like stars.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale asked, prompting him further. Crowley just stared at him until he spoke again. “You have a favorite, I presume.”

“Alpha Centauri. It’s a binary star system. The two stars orbit around each other amidst lots of planets.”

“That sounds lovely.”

Crowley hummed absently. He’d only seen the two stars through a telescope. It was impossible to see them otherwise. He remembered laying outside with his mother when he was younger, pointing out constellations and figures in the sky. He couldn’t bring himself to do it now. 

“Say, angel, do you want a drink?” 

\--

Crowley had been tipsy before, sneaking alcohol from his parents’ parties with the other kids. That’s how Bee and him had grown close - always causing mischief. But he’d never been plastered until, well . . . now. 

“Mah point is - dolphins. Thas’ mah point,” he slurred, swinging his glass haphazardly. “Big brains. Damn big brains, the lot of them.”

Aziraphale nodded emphatically, a little tipsy himself. “Kraken. Biiiiiig bugger.”

Another glass later and the alcohol had stirred the demon’s more miserable mind. “I didn’t - hic - _mean_ to be bad,” Crowley whined. “Just hung around the - hic - wrong people. And then _She_ came to my doorstep and - PTHTHTHTHTHTH - and then I was a bloody demon!”

He’d watched Aziraphale’s eyes widen. “W-Wait . . . you weren’t - hic - _always_ a demon?” he asked confusedly. 

“No!” Crowley blurted. “I was like - hic - fourteen or somethin’, dunno.”

“That’s horrible!” Aziraphale said, seemingly escaping his stupor. “What happened?”

Crowley could barely keep his eyes open. He blindly grabbed for Aziraphale’s glass. “Here!” he said, pouring more wine with a drunken smile. “Have summore!!”

The priest complied. 

\--

Aziraphale had never been this drunk in his life. Between the two of them, they’d emptied a whole bottle. Now he was tapping at his empty glass, giggling at the clinking sound it made and rambling about his village.

“Yaknow what?” he asked Crowley, whose head snapped up. He’d moved to lay on the floor. Aziraphale slid off his own chair to sit next to him. “Gabriel is - is -”

“Say it - hic - angel!” 

“A knob!”

“A _knob!_ ” Crowley repeated gleefully. 

“Yaknow what else?” he asked again, not waiting for a reply. “He’s the - hic - bad one! Sometimes I wanna - hic - smack him across the face!”

“Do it!”

“No, no. Can’t! M’a priest. We don’ . . . oh, I can’t - hic - cope with this while I’m drunk.” Aziraphale’s eyes wandered up to Crowley’s. He smiled, face heated. “Yaknow what else, Crow . . . Crowl . . . whatever your name is.”

“Ngk?” the demon said intellectually. 

Aziraphale was far too comfortable with their proximity. He’d gotten close to Crowley’s reddened face, looked directly into his golden eyes and said, “You have the prettiest eyes - hic - ever! Prettiest! Ever!”

Crowley sat up on an elbow, but barely. “Ngk! You dunno what ur - hic - talkin’ abou’! You dri - drink too much???”

Aziraphale sat back and laughed. “We both - hic - drank too much, silly!”

Tomorrow morning was going to be horrible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes.


	6. Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley makes apologetic pastries and they get back on track.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been struggling to figure out what this chapter would be about since I don't want to get to the dancing yet (tho that is coming soon hehe), so have some communication between the husbands. Thanks again for reading!
> 
> P.S - Crowley is a Scorpio. I don't believe in astrology, but it's fun.

Aziraphale paced frantically in the library. His head felt like it had been smashed into a wall. Too much to drink last night. He'd never been drunk before - what if he revealed too much? Would Crowley remember what he said? The priest himself couldn't remember much except - 

_You weren't_ always _a demon?_

He'd said something strange about God . . . cursing him? Could that even be possible? And why would She do that? If Crowley was just fourteen years, he couldn't have done anything _that_ bad, could he? It would be a cruel punishment, if it were all true. But the demon could be lying. Aziraphale didn't dare acknowledge the fact that he'd been horribly comfortable in Crowley's company. 

A tiny voice whispered in the back of Aziraphale's mind, and he let it grow louder. Crowley didn't act like a demon. He was nice, and considerate, and never tried to hurt him. Could it be true? Could he be a human in a frightening disguise? That would make Aziraphale's life a lot easier. _Maybe I can help him . . . ._

"Oh, God, what is _happening_?" the priest groaned. "What is wrong with me?"

If he could only find that wretched book!

\---

Crowley peeked his head out from the kitchen as he heard footsteps. _So he's decided to come down after all,_ Crowley thought. The priest had woken up next to him on the floor early this morning. He'd looked shocked and ashamed, and scurried up the stairwell before Crowley could say anything. 

Crowley looked down at the pastries he'd been baking. He hoped they could be an apology for getting the priest so drunk last night. After all, a demon's body was much more tolerant to pain - a hangover was nothing to _him_. 

He hadn't baked in a long time. But the pastries smelled decent, so he felt pretty good about the taste. It was a change from the breads and cheeses and meats Crowley kept stored. Food magically appeared in his kitchen, which he supposed was God's work. So She wasn't _all_ bad. Whatever. 

It was close to noon. Crowley arranged the pastries on a tray and walked out into the foyer, greeting Aziraphale. The priest smiled when he saw Crowley, which made his own stomach flutter. 

"What's that?" Aziraphale asked, following Crowley to the table. 

"Apology pastries."

"Whatever for?"

"Well, for getting you drunk last night. Your head must hurt."

Aziraphale's eyes widened for a moment. "I . . . well, I wanted to drink. It's not your fault. But thank you."

Crowley shrugged, sat down across from Aziraphale. The priest gave a little excited wiggle as his hand hovered over the tray. It was very cute, the demon thought. They'd eaten separately once Crowley had shown him the kitchen. Aziraphale spent most of the day in the library. But now that he was here, Crowley thought he should probably talk about a few things. 

But then Aziraphale took a bite, and the delighted sound he made was the most sinful thing he'd ever heard. Crowley stared, mouth open. Just _how much_ did this priest like pastries? 

"These are delicious! Where did you learn to bake like this?"

Crowley blinked. "Ngk? Oh, uh, servants taught me. Would sneak into the kitchen. Yunno, kid stuff."

"So it's true then? You really are human?"

"Six years ago," the demon muttered.

"I don't mean to push, but where is everybody, then? It's so lonely here."

Crowley pursed his lips. Should he tell Aziraphale that almost every plant in the castle was staff he watered daily? And that they talked to him only? Or that his best friend was currently a Venus fly trap? He didn't want to lie to him, but he also didn't think the priest could handle that information. Oh well. 

"Er . . . they were cursed too. They're uh . . . around."

"What does that mean?"

"They're plants, Aziraphale."

Aziraphale's jaw dropped. _"ALL OF THEM?"_ he shrieked. 

"No, no! Not the ones in the bedrooms, of course," Crowley said hurriedly. That would be such a breach of privacy. "Just, you know, around the kitchen and halls and what not."

"Oh. Well. I do hope they are doing quite alright."

"You aren't freaked out?"

"Oh, no," Aziraphale chuckled. "I very much am. I am. It's not the strangest thing, though. This whole ordeal, might I say, is strange itself."

"S'pose you're right." Crowley paused, noticed Aziraphale fiddling with his fingers. He looked like he wanted to ask something else, but was too nervous. Crowley sighed. He didn't know how much longer the priest was going to be here, but he supposed if this was the last person he'd ever know, he should let him ask. "Spit it out, lamb."

"I just . . . what about your parents?"

"They died a long time ago," Crowley said matter-of-factly. Things happen. Even nobles can't escape a fire. The only parent he'd ever miss was his mother. It was probably harsh to say but, well, his father wasn't the nicest man. 

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"S'okay. What about yours?"

"My mother and I live in the village down South. We're very close," Aziraphale said fondly. "Never met my father, though."

Crowley nodded. He didn't want to push, either. Aziraphale seemed content with it, munching on pastries in silence. After a few minutes, he spoke up again. It was an entirely different topic, and something Crowley was not prepared for.

"How old are you, Crowley?"

This was _not_ what Crowley wanted to talk about. It was October now. The closer to the end of the month he got, the closer to permanent life as a demon he was. Aziraphale seemed to be more open with Crowley after learning he was actually human - he could tell by the way the priest acted around him. But how long would that last? And Crowley would be a fool to mistake Aziraphale's feelings for something more. He'd accepted being a beast for the rest of his life. Should he even share his age? What would be the point? And why was he even asking? 

"Nearly twenty-one years, now."

"Oh!"

"Told you I was quite young." Crowley had figured Aziraphale was around the same age. He looked much too young to be one of those old priests. His hair was still fully white-blonde, and his eyes were still their lovely blue. "What about you?"

"Twenty years. We're quite close, hm?"

Yeah. Crowley wished they had nothing in common. Sure, their personalities were very different, but they both reached an understanding of each other. He wished they _didn't_ get along. Would be much easier to get the notion of requited love out of his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's very typical to vilify the father, but I have a love-hate relationship with my own and am closest to my mother. I'm just projecting a lil.


	7. Getting Ready

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's moral dilemmas and gay panic, fellas. Dance is next chapter!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been going between "angel" and "lamb" ENDLESSLY, but I feel like someone as soft as Aziraphale would be like a fluffy little lamb so I'm going with that.

"This was a mistake! I'm such an idiot," Crowley hissed, undoing his braid for the fifteenth time. It was noon, and for the past hour, the demon was trying to make his unruly hair do something elegant. It wasn't working.

_You're making a big deal out of nothing._

The demon spun around to gape at the Venus fly trap on his bedside table. "Nothing? _Nothing?!_ You should've seen how he looked at me! Like I'd grown a second head right then and there."

_That's because you're as awkward as you look. Now, what did you say exactly?_

Crowley huffed, staring at his own reflection. He looked . . . a little crazed. Was he really getting this worked up over a priest? Of all things? _Not just any priest_ , he thought begrudgingly. _Aziraphale. The cute bastard just down the hall._ "He was standing in the ballroom, which looks dusty by the way, and I said 'have you ever danced before?' and he said no, and then _I_ said 'we should have a dance tonight' - you know, like an idiot!"

_Well obviously he likes you if he said yes. I swear to Satan, you're going to be the death of yourself!_

" _He's_ going to be the death of me!" Crowley plopped onto the vanity in defeat, then said, much quieter, "I don't even know if he likes men, Bee. Priests aren't allowed to be -"

_Priests aren't allowed to be anything but priests, Crowley. And if you haven't noticed, he's gayer than a treeful of monkeys on nitrous oxide. So shut up and go dance with him, or we'll be stuck like this forever, and I still want to bash your stupid face in._

"You don't have to be so blunt," the demon grumbled. 

_Oh, terribly SORRY, your majesty! I'm just going a tad fucking bit CRAZY like this! It's been six years, Crowley. The candle's almost snuffed. This is an opportunity! If he doesn't actually care for you, that's not your fault, but just give it a goddamn shot. What more do you have to lose?_

Crowley sat in quiet disdain. Mainly for himself. He hated that he was the cause of all this. There was never something in his life he couldn't fix, couldn't better, couldn't get out of. But _this_ \- he was cursed by God Herself. This was something unchangeable by his rules. He had to follow Hers. He had no idea when Aziraphale would find that book. Even though he's had no sign of success so far, by Crowley's luck he'll find it just after tonight and be gone the next day. Bee was right. This was an opportunity to get close to Aziraphale. To show him everything he is behind his fear-striking image. That was what he wanted, right? The priest had grown on him, having been in his space for so long. He _did_ want to know Aziraphale in every way, make him feel above whatever his village made him out to be. Was that . . . love? _No. That's too fast. But - ? No! You'll scare him off thinking like that!_

Crowley also wanted his plants to be people again. It was so _unfair_ for them to be punished for his own brashness. They didn't blame him, not really, but there was no denying his impending failure. Everyone knew about the candle. There was rustling in the foyer deep into the night, whispering. If it weren't such a devastating situation, Crowley would guess that they were making bets on when he would tell Aziraphale that, well . . . .

\---

Aziraphale shuffled around the library, nervously fidgeting with scattered knick-knacks. He'd given up on his appearance several minutes ago. There was nothing he could really spruce up, anyway. His hair was always going to be a white-blonde tuft, and his robes were always going to be priestly. Why was he even worrying about how he looked? He'd never felt self-conscious before, save for when Gabriel gave him disapproving looks. 

Maybe it was because Crowley had looked so beautiful in the dim golden light of the ballroom. Maybe it was because, under his gaze, he didn't feel self-conscious or too soft. 

_Maybe_ he should go tell Crowley that this was a bad idea and that he didn't want to dance with him anymore. But he'd be lying. Oh, he didn't want to lie! He just didn't want to get dreadfully in trouble. _But who's watching? Not Gabriel._ No, not Gabriel. But God, most certainly! _But he's actually human, so it's not so bad, is it? It's not like you're falling to demonic temptations!_

But what is She thinking, looking down on him now? **(P.S - She's amused for sure, but Aziraphale doesn't know that.)** He wanted to pray to Her, ask Her to check in on his mother for him. He didn't feel like he could. There was a guilty voice in the back of his mind, always there, always rising when he did something he shouldn't. And that was more often than not. _We're all sinners, though._ That was true, but he wasn't supposed to be dancing with a devilishly handsome man tonight. He was _supposed_ to be looking for that wretched book so he could go home and get Gabriel to leave him alone for good. And he was having absolutely zero luck finding it! For all he knew, it wasn't even here. If that were so, it meant that deep down, he'd been staying for Crowley's company instead of doing his job.

"Oh, dear," Aziraphale whispered to himself. 

He wasn't looking forward to calling this all off. 

All of it.

\---

Crowley had only been in the foyer for a few minutes when Aziraphale popped into existence nearby. He hadn't really talked to him all morning, except when he'd asked him to dance, or all afternoon. But now it was evening, and Crowley was getting nervous. 

It seemed Aziraphale was too, because he stood in front of him with clasped hands and flitting eyes.

"Something wrong, lamb?" the demon asked cautiously. 

"N-No, but, well, I . . .," the priest trailed. He seemed to be fighting with something behind his eyes. "I, er, was wondering if . . . you'd take a gardening suggestion?"

Crowley raised a brow, unconvinced. "Oh? Like what?"

"Um . . . poppies. They're my mother's favorite."

"Poppies? Uh, dunno, might have a few seeds around. I'll look?"

"Yes, excellent. Thank you," Aziraphale said, and promptly turned toward the stairwell again. 

"You alright?" Crowley called after him. 

"Tickety-boo! Rather. See you tonight!"

\---

 _Dammit!_ Aziraphale thought miserably.


	8. The Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys dance and Talk.

Aziraphale stood in the empty ballroom, fingering a wooden cross on his chest. It was a necklace he hardly brought out, save for when he was nervous. Its rough edges were familiar and calming. 

_Like Crowley. All rough edges._ There was no _real_ toughness behind his exterior. He’d only been a child when he was cursed, after all. And when it came down to it, Crowley just seemed like a normal man who’d missed out on a normal childhood. Shouldn’t it be Aziraphale’s duty, he thought, to redeem him? Perhaps if he did a little reckoning with God, She’d go back on the curse. Perhaps, in the end, Aziraphale would be able to help Crowley. 

“Good grief,” he winced at himself. 

He was swinging with extraordinary velocity between wanting to hide away from Crowley and getting ever closer. He knew the fluttering feeling in his chest, from when he was young, perched on the bench and watching the cute schoolboys. He knew, then, that it wasn’t acceptable to feel that way; and as a priest, it certainly wasn’t acceptable now. But there was such a call to the beast. A beast - who understood him, who never demeaned him, who’d kept his distance when Aziraphale was hesitant. 

Oh well. He’d always been a bit too much of a hedonist to be a good priest. 

\---

Crowley stepped into the ballroom with a million thoughts scurrying through his head. There was a curious air between him and Aziraphale when they locked eyes, as if the other had come to some kind of resolve. _Well, I sure hope it’s a good one._ He put a bit of pep in his step, remembering what Bee had told him. 

“Hey, lamb,” he said with all the confidence and suaveness a snake-like monster could muster. He was lucky, he thought, that he’d maintained a male-shaped figure, so at least some of him could be deemed human and not hulking beast. His height had always been an advantage, and that was no different now. “Ready for a dance session?”

“I do believe so, though you’ll have to be patient with me I’m afraid,” Aziraphale chuckled sheepishly. His eyes sparkled in the warm glow of the ballroom. “Crowley? Is something wrong?”

The demon’s face heated. Had he been staring? 

“Hm? No! Not at all,” he said quickly, wracking his brain for a good recovery. “Just trying to figure out which dance would be easiest for you.”

“I’m up for a challenge.”

Crowley grinned. _Playing bastard, are we?_ “I’d humor you, but I’d rather not get stepped on.”

“I suppose I would be quite clumsy . . . ,” the priest trailed, eyeing Crowley’s right hand when he held it out to him. 

“It won’t bite.” Aziraphale gave a wavering smile at that, muttering out an apology as he took his hand. “That’s okay. S’kinda weird looking. Scales and all.”

“It’s not that,” Aziraphale said. He didn’t elaborate, but there was a twinkle in his eye. “Now, I do believe your hand goes on my waist next.”

Crowley sputtered. “Oi! You’re a right bastard, you know that? If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’d actually danced before. Learn that from a book, did you?”

“I did! Books are quite useful, you know.”

“I do. Have a whole library of them,” Crowley mumbled, placing his hand on Aziraphale’s waist as the priest’s hand landed on his shoulder. He tried not to think about how comfy the priest was. If he truly were a snake, he imagined he would have wrapped around him as if he were a particularly warm rock. Aziraphale was softer than a rock, of course, but there was no missing the natural strength that lay beneath. 

“Oh, but I thought that was _my_ library now?” 

Crowley’s brows raised as he tried to reel his hammering heart back. It was almost as if Aziraphale was flirting. No, but that was impossible. It was probably just light banter to distract himself from his own nerves. Was Aziraphale nervous? If the shifting of weight before Crowley announced himself was any indication, then he was. Why would he be? Did Crowley unnerve him? 

He snapped back to reality, offering another grin. “Right. Silly me."

After making sure the priest was absolutely comfortable in their current position, Crowley instructed the first few steps of a classic ballroom dance. It was easy enough - there was no fancy skipping or spins. He made sure to keep a slow rhythm so that Aziraphale could keep up. He'd tripped a few times at first. 

“So. How did you learn to dance?” Aziraphale piped finally, seemingly getting enough of a hang of it to converse. 

“Ah. Er, just training for suitor events. Marriage. You know.”

“I don’t believe I do, my dear.”

“Right. Priests don’t marry,” Crowley noted sullenly. “Well, surely you’ve read on it? Nobles start the whole arranged marriage thing early.”

“At fourteen, though? Seems . . . cruel.”

The demon shrugged. “I dunno. Never really got to that point before my parents died, before I became . . . this,” he said. “Not too remorseful. I don’t think my parents would have hit the mark on that one.”

Crowley didn’t know if Aziraphale picked up on what he was implying. As badly as he wanted the priest to return his affections, he couldn’t change what wasn’t. _Even if Bee had been very adamant,_ he thought begrudgingly. Instead, he honed in on the smooth feel of Aziraphale’s hand, the soft fabric of his priest’s robes. He shifted the conversation toward Aziraphale. 

“I think everything happens for a reason. Ineffable, you might say.”

“Ineffable,” Crowley scoffed. “And you suppose what happened to me was _ineffable?_ ”

Aziraphale pursed his lips. “I don’t think God goes around cursing people on accident.”

“Yeah, well, She has a funny sense of humor.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

Crowley looked at him stupidly. It was a cruel trick, he’d thought, for God to send a bloody _priest_ to his castle, the one type of person he thought he could never feel anything for. Yet here he was, smitten over some white-blonde priest who had simply waltzed into his life. And such convenient timing, too. Was that _ineffable?_ Was this God teasing him? Was She perched up in her tower of clouds, humored by his absolute doom? A priest, fallen in love with a demon? Never. 

He picked up their slow steps again. “Oh, come on. A priest fraternizing with a demon? You can’t tell me She’s not playing around.”

Aziraphale’s brows raised. “Oh! Well. I mean - firstly, you're not _actually_ a demon. That was made quite apparent, dear. You couldn't have done anything too horrible as a child, could you? You're really very nice."

Crowley rolled his eyes, but didn't correct him. "Well, I wasn't always _nice_ , Aziraphale."

"Then what were you?"

"Does it matter?" the demon asked, crestfallen. He'd hoped the conversation wouldn't shift back to him and all his wrongdoings. "I was just a stupid kid. Let the wrong people influence me. But you know me as I am now, don't you? Isn't that enough . . .?"

Aziraphale gazed at him with a certain sadness. "Of course. I just - well, I wouldn't fault you for making bad decisions as a _child_. You shouldn't either. We all make mistakes. I should know! Horrible, me."

Crowley paused, scowling. It wasn’t his responsibility to reassure Aziraphale that he was a good priest. He didn’t even know what that looked like. _Oh, but you want to reassure him, don’t you?_ a treasonous little voice asked. _He reassured you, irredeemable. Why don't you return the favor?_

“What do you mean?” he asked, giving in, causing the priest to look up at him questionably. “You’re the kindest person I've ever met!"

"I'm afraid there's more requirements than being _kind._ "

"So? S'that what that knob Gabriel told you? Who cares what he thinks? If all priests were like you, the Church would be a much better place."

There were a few moments of silence before Aziraphale spoke. “Oh, Crowley. I really should start believing you.”

Crowley made his best show of looking irritated, but the smile Aziraphale was granting him made it excruciatingly hard. And then - before he could even comprehend what was happening - Aziraphale let his hand go, wrapping him in a hug instead. White-blonde curls rested just below the demon’s chin. Against his better judgement, Crowley returned it. He could just hear Bee laughing at him. 

He must look so stupid - red in the face, surprise and happiness plastered all over it. _The beautiful bastard is hugging me! Me!_

Aziraphale leaned back a little, vague surprise written on his own face. Crowley stared at him. He looked like a pure angel, with his wide eyes and golden hair. Everything seemed to still. The priest's gaze flickered down and up again. Crowley swallowed roughly in anticipation. What was Aziraphale thinking?

But then Aziraphale was stepping away hastily, and his apology barely registered.

“Ngk?” Crowley asked politely. 

Aziraphale looked him in the eye, embarrassed. It sobered Crowley very quickly. “I said,” the priest sighed, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

Crowley tried to hide his disappointment. “It’s alright, really . . . .”

He watched Aziraphale shift awkwardly, staring down at his own clasped hands. The air around him moved into something . . . guilty? Why such a sudden change? Crowley thought it had been going well. He should’ve known the priest would still be flighty, even after six weeks. _Who could blame him?_ Crowley thought. 

Maybe he was missing something. “What is it, lamb?” he asked quietly. 

Aziraphale’s head snapped up. “I just, er . . . could we step outside? I think it’s a rather nice night. Would be a shame to miss it.”

“Sure,” Crowley said, offering a smile he hoped didn’t showcase his nerves.


	9. Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale sees his mother is in trouble and has to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is uber short but the next one will be much longer!

The night air was crisp and cool, stabilizing Crowley’s mind. Surely the priest was just in the heat of the moment. He couldn’t really . . . _feel_ that way for him, right? A priest was supposed to love all of God’s creations. But this was different. He wanted it to be different. 

There was a balcony that led out from the ballroom, for guest’s convenience. It was laden with beautiful plants and smooth stone, and there was a bench that lined the outer wall. They sat there now, quiet, looking anywhere but each other. 

“I -”

“Aziraphale -”

The priest huffed out a laugh. “Alright, you first.”

There was an uncomfortable nagging in Crowley's head. “Are you, er, comfortable here?”

“Yes, actually. This is luxury compared to the village. But . . . .” He desperately wanted to reach out, take the priest’s hands. He didn’t. There was too much of a nervous presence around Aziraphale, and he didn’t want to spook him more. “Well, it’s my mother, really.”

Crowley felt a pang of guilt. “I’ve been keeping you from her, haven’t I?”

“Wha - no!” Aziraphale said hurriedly, brows furrowed. “I _cannot_ go back to the village empty handed, you understand. It was my mother who told Gabriel about the book in the first place, and if I don’t return with it, he’ll never leave us alone. I just . . . wish I could check on her. She’s not been well lately.”

The demon wracked his brain. A lightbulb went off. “Oi! I have something, I think. Never used it really, but it could be useful,” he piped, standing abruptly. Aziraphale stood with him. 

He failed to remind Aziraphale that he hadn’t had any luck so far in finding the book. But he remembered him saying something vague about going up North, and his castle was the only thing around for miles. That must mean something, right?

“You have everything, don’t you?” Aziraphale teased. 

“Almost.”

\---  
The silence in the corridor was uneasy as Crowley led him up a stairwell and into a dark room. The moonlight glowed through the window, so he could vaguely see different scattered objects. 

Oh, what had he done? Hugged Crowley like a delighted child! Where was his self control? He remembered the look the demon gave him, serpentine pupils dilated, and he’d thought - for a split second - _what if . . . ._

A candle on a pedestal caught his attention. It was almost entirely burnt down, but the flame still remained. It must have been a miracle for the night breeze not to blow it out. But before he could question it, Crowley was passing something in his direction. 

Aziraphale took it and frowned, seeing his own reflection. “This is . . . a mirror.”

“Ah ah, an _enchanted_ mirror,” Crowley corrected. The priest eyed him skeptically. The closest thing he’d seen to magic was Anathema. “Oh, don’t look at me like that! Tell it what you want to see.”

“Er, alright . . . I would like to see my mother. Please.”

Almost instantly, the mirror began glowing a light green. He yelped. His face wavered and gave way to a woman with red hair and a crazed expression. She seemed to be struggling against something. Aziraphale’s stomach dropped. 

“I-I think something’s wrong,” he said quickly. 

Crowley leaned in toward the mirror. “What do you mean?”

“She’s struggling with someone! I don’t know who . . . I can’t see. I thought Anathema was keeping an eye on her,” he explained, even though Crowley had no idea who that was. There were a few beats of silence. 

“Then you have to go to her.”

Aziraphale’s head snapped up. “What? W-What about the book?”

“Oh, come on! You can’t possibly mean that. Forget the blasted book, Aziraphale, she’s in trouble!” Crowley scowled. Aziraphale nodded, steeling himself. No, he had to go help her. He had the sinking feeling that his mother would only get herself in more of a dilemma. “Take Bentley, she’ll get you there faster than any horse.”

Aziraphale nodded again, feeling in a blur. He shoved the mirror in Crowley’s hands, just to have it pushed back into his again. 

“Take that, too. To remember me.”

The priest refocused at the words, looked up at Crowley. The scales that littered his cheeks, those deep, golden eyes. “Right,” he breathed, and before he knew what he was doing, he stood up on his toes and kissed the demon’s cheek. “You’ve understood me more than anyone. Thank you.”

Crowley just smiled at him sadly. 

Aziraphale turned running, and he didn’t look back. 

\---

Crowley watched Aziraphale go. He hadn’t looked back, gratefully. He was sure he was going to break when Aziraphale looked up at him. When he kissed his cheek. But he didn’t. 

He sat, in a sad stillness, gazing out the window. He didn’t dare spare a glance at the candle just feet away from him. Failure, he told himself. He knew it would happen. There was an odd thunking sound behind him. 

_Soooo, how’d it go? You have no idea how hard it was to get up here so give me details._

“He’s gone,” Crowley said lamely, not having the heart to look at Bee when he said it. “I told him to go.”

_WHAT? Why would you do that, Crowley?_

“I had to.”

_But . . . why?_

Crowley sighed. “Because . . . I love him.”


	10. Kill the Beast!

Aziraphale urged Bentley to go faster. His mother’s face had looked terrified. He’d hoped Anathema would keep this from happening, but he should have known. Tracy would only really listen to him, and right now, he was needed. 

The mirror weighed heavily in his robes as Bentley flew through the thicket of the woods. Aziraphale tried his best not to worry about Crowley. Maybe, since he had his horse still, he could return to see him one more time. He didn’t count on it. And he doubted Gabriel would let him out of his sight after this incident with his mother.

Lights began to surface in the distance. As Aziraphale got closer, he could see the entire village crowded around the Church, holding torches to see. His heart beating in his throat, the priest settled Bentley behind some trees and slowly approached. He’d meant to be as quiet as possible so as to not draw attention, but the instant a villager recognized his face, he was being hurtled toward the middle of the circle.

Aziraphale stumbled into the opening and looked up to see Gabriel clutching his mother’s arm. Behind him, Michael and Uriel donned twin frowns. 

“Ah, Aziraphale!” Gabriel boomed. “You couldn’t have come sooner! Your mother is being an absolute lunatic!”

“Please, let her go,” Aziraphale gasped, barely registering things at such a high speed. “You know she’s sick.”

“Oh, I know. This woman woke up the entire village, screaming about how her _son_ was in the treacherous hands of a _demon_! Hah! Can you believe that?” Aziraphale couldn’t believe it. But it was clear it had shaken his mother, because she looked at him with frantic eyes. “I have half the mind to take her to the asylum ward,” Gabriel finished.

“No! She’s not insane, I - I have proof!” Aziraphale shouted. He took a deep breath and brought out the mirror. Was he really about to do this? If he did, what would happen? But . . . what would happen to his mother if he didn't? The crowd stilled expectantly. The priest sighed in defeat. “S-Show me the beast.”

The mirror glowed green before Crowley came into view. With a steadily sinking heart, Aziraphale shoved the mirror in Gabriel’s face. _Oh, Crowley. I’m so sorry._ The pope yelped, staggering backward a few steps. He snatched up the mirror, releasing Tracy.

She rushed into Aziraphale’s arms. “My dear boy, I thought you were hurt!”

“I’m okay. Don’t worry about that now,” Aziraphale hushed. 

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t -”

There was a rush of screams as the demon was revealed to the crowd, fear driving the villagers back from where Gabriel bellowed. “L-Look at this - this - monster! It’s got horns and - and fangs! We have to kill it before _it_ kills _us_!”

“No! You don’t understand!” Aziraphale said, rushing to Gabriel’s side. He tried grabbing for the mirror, but the man held it out of his reach. “He wouldn’t hurt anyone! He’s kind, a-and gentle -!”

Gabriel sneered at him before turning back to the mob. “ _Kind and gentle?_ Why . . . the demon has tempted him! If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he _cared_ for it! There’s no time for this. Men, grab your weapons! Leave the children here where it’s safe. Find where it lives, and I’ll take care of it!”

The mob obeyed, scattering and passing around pitchforks and spears and whatever else sharp. Aziraphale grabbed Gabriel’s sleeve pathetically. 

“I can’t let you do this,” he said. “Don’t you remember the book? He was helping me! I’m so close, you can’t -”

Gabriel ripped his arm away. 

“Oh, give it up, Aziraphale! Are you so daft?” Aziraphale furrowed his brows. The new man before him let out an irritated sigh. “The book doesn’t _exist_ , you fool! Understand? It isn’t real! Did you really think I’d believe someone as lunatic as your mother? No, we were trying to get rid of you.”

Aziraphale stood, stunned. “I . . . I -”

“At least, in the end, you were useful to us in some way,” Gabriel said, smiling without kindness. “I’m sure killing this thing will do wonders for the Church.”

And with that, he strode away, Michael and Uriel close behind him. The priest watched after them numbly. He could hear Gabriel’s vicious shouts of encouragement. _Oh, God. What have I done? I have to warn him, I -_

“Aziraphale!” a voice called. Could people just leave him alone for once?

But it was Anathema. She paused in front of him, caught her breath. “I was asleep, and she was so fast! I tried to convince Gabriel to let her go but he wouldn’t and the crowd pushed me out and - I’m so sorry. What’s happening?”

Aziraphale winced. “Ah. I believe I’ve rather made a mess of things.”

“Well, can you fix it?”

“I . . . I can try. But I have to go now.”

“Right. I’ll keep your mother here. Or - try my best this time.”

“Ah, yes, where is she by the way?” he asked, attempting to keep his impending panic mild.

“I’ve already dragged her back in the house when you were talking down Gabriel. Now get a move on, Azi!”

“Right!” Aziraphale said, snapping into action. “You’ve been such a help, my dear.”

“Not really . . . .”

The priest wasn’t listening. He hurried back to Bentley and mounted her. “I owe you one!” he shouted over his shoulder as he rode off. 

He just hoped he could get to Crowley first.


	11. Finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few people get hurt. Yikes. But it's okay!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay! A lot going on right now. I am also in the midst of developing a new AU with ineffable wives!
> 
> This is the last chapter before the epilogue. 12 chapters total! Thanks for sticking with me.

Crowley lifted his head to the sound of distant shouts. Distant lights through the thicket of woods that guarded the castle. He should probably get a move on, hide somewhere, instead of wallowing in his self pity. But he couldn't bring himself to. This was his fault. To think a priest of all people could ever care for him in such a way was ridiculous, even if he were human. Did he expect this to happen? No. Was he a fool for not expecting it? Absolutely. He wished God would at least have protected him from certain heartbreak and failure.

_What should we do, Crowley?_

"Nothing," the demon muttered. "It's over, Bee. Just let them come."

_The priest . . . he betrayed you._

Crowley wrapped his arms around himself. "I - I don't know that. Maybe something happened to -"

A dull knock sounded through the halls. What killer would _knock_ instead of break in? Crowley looked over to Bee before creeping down the stairwell. If he were to die tonight, at least he wouldn't be stuck as a demon forever. He cracked the door open, letting out his most terrifying hiss in hopes of putting them off guard, at least a little.

" _What_ \- oh."

Aziraphale stood in his doorway, looking a bit disheveled. Crowley pushed aside the rush of relief and joy that came at the sight of the priest's face. He didn't know what he was here for, and judging by the nearing mob, it wasn't anything good. 

"Oh, thank God!" Aziraphale gasped. His words came out in a flurry. "Crowley, I've made quite a mess of things, b-but I can explain when we get you somewhere safe!"

He started pushing inside. Crowley stopped him, ignoring the hurt and confusion in the priest's eyes. "I gave you the benefit of the doubt, Aziraphale, but you _told_ them about me?"

Aziraphale gaped like a fish out of water. "I - yes, but it's all a big misunderstanding! I never meant to - well, not on purpose - but we can't dally on that right now, he's coming -"

"Who's coming?"

"Gabriel! And my entire village. Please, let me help you."

Crowley fought a sigh. He was too tired for this. "I don't want your help, Aziraphale."

"I can't let you die because of me."

_Oh, don't worry about that. It was my stupidity that got me here in the first place,_ he wanted to say. Instead, he said, "Take care of Bentley," and shut the door in the priest's face. Was it immature? A little. Would Aziraphale feel bad? Yes, but he'd get over it. Probably. 

Guilt churned inside Crowley's stomach as he rushed back up the stairwell and into his study. Bee was gone by the time he reached it. The only familiar thing in the room was the wretched candle. It had been dwindling for ages, down to a mere stump. Like melted butter. He'd probably be dead by the time the flame blew out. But no matter. He shouldn't have been so naive. He shouldn't have just pushed Aziraphale out like that. He shouldn't have done a lot of things. 

Everything was eerily quiet as he stood in the middle of the study, listening. His hands didn't shake. His heart didn't stutter. Old wood creaked, perhaps from the wind, but he knew better. The door opened. He hadn't locked it. 

"Hello, beast." A man's voice. Crowley turned around, eyes catching on the silhouette of a rifle. "Why, you do look like you've crawled out the pits of Hell."

Crowley didn't say anything. That was, until, a bullet in the shoulder sent him right through the stained glass of the window. Gabriel laughed, hopping down on the roof after him. If he tried, Crowley could easily take the man. His horns, fangs, and claws made great weapons. 

But he just didn't have it in him. 

A heavy boot made contact with his ribs, sending him forward on the roof a few feet. Crowley gripped the edge of the roof, spotting the bleak ground miles below him. Villagers with torches surrounded the castle as far as he could see. Even if he managed to get away, he would surely die from them. 

"Get up," Gabriel growled. "Get _up_. Or what? Too _kind and gentle_ to fight back?"

Crowley was prodded onto his back. He stared down the barrel of the rifle. _This is it_ , he thought. His shoulder was bleeding out, though he could barely feel it. There was nothing more painful than the ache in his chest. 

"Gabriel! Don't do it!" a voice shouted from the study's balcony. 

Gabriel swung around, and the rifle went with him. "Stay out of this, Aziraphale, or I'll do it for you!"

_Aziraphale?_ Crowley lifted his head. The priest was gripping the edge of the balcony, fear written all over his body. Of course, Gabriel had the rifle pointed at him, currently.

Wait.

Crowley lurched onto Gabriel, sending them both back into the crumbling walls of the castle. He sank his fangs into the man's shoulder, eliciting a scream. It was animalistic, yes. But at least he got his attention away from Aziraphale. 

Gabriel shoved him back with the butt of his rifle. Crowley scurried to hide behind the decorative gargoyles as Gabriel clutched his shoulder. The man pushed himself up. He stumbled across the roof, eyes searching. 

"Come out, beast," he spat. "There's no hiding forever! You're outnumbered!"

His shadow passed by. Crowley followed it. He leapt again, this time pinning Gabriel down by his talons. The man yelped, losing grip of the rifle, sending it over the rooftops and down to the ground below. With newfound strength, Crowley lifted the man by his neck and held him over the ledge. He struggled to catch his breath, the bullet lodged in his shoulder making it hard to focus. 

"Please!" Gabriel gasped, clutching at the hands around his neck. "Please don't kill me! I'll do anything. Anything!"

Crowley wanted nothing more than to let go and watch the man fall. But a flash of white-blonde in the corner of his eye stopped him. Aziraphale still stood, on the balcony. His hands were clasped together and he looked . . . _scared_. 

_Of me?_ Crowley thought. He couldn't have that. He backed onto the roof, setting Gabriel down onto it. "You'll do anything?" he asked. Gabriel nodded rapidly. "Then leave. And never come back."

And it was stupid, really, that Crowley turned his back on the man without a thought and made his way over to Aziraphale's balcony. It was stupid, really, that he didn't make sure Gabriel was truly gone. 

But the priest's arms were reaching down toward him and he couldn't resist. With a bit of struggle, Aziraphale managed to hoist him up enough to perch on the rail of the balcony. Their labored breaths came out in clouds between them as Crowley tried his best to ignore the searing pain in his shoulder. 

"Hey lamb. Sorry 'bout pushing you out. Didn't think you'd have stayed."

"Of course I stayed!" Aziraphale said, his hands twisted into Crowley's robes so as to not drop him. "This is all my fault, I'm so -"

"Shhhhh," Crowley mumbled. He felt dizzy. "I want . . . a nap."

"A nap?" the priest asked, a little dumbfounded. "A-Alright, let me just -"

Crowley cried out. Something sharp was suddenly levered between his ribs. He swayed back, the only thing keeping him from falling being Aziraphale's arms. Then there was another scream, but it wasn't his own. Crowley looked in its general direction to find Gabriel diving toward the ground. He couldn't hear the sickening crack, but he knew it was there. Aziraphale dragged Crowley to the safety of the study and laid him down.

"You pushed him," he said quietly.

Crowley's gaze flickered. "I didn't. He pushed me."

"W-Well - oh! He - He _stabbed_ you!"

"Hm? I dun thin' so . . . ." 

"Crowley, the knife is - oh, never mind! Save your breath, dear. I just have to - have to put pressure is all. Then you'll be right as rain!" Aziraphale rambled as he tore off cloth from his robes. The pressure hurt. 

"Agh - 's no use, Aziraphale. I've been shot too," Crowley said with difficulty. "Maybe it's . . . better this way, hm?"

"Don't talk like that," Aziraphale said softly. He smoothed his hands over Crowley's chest. "It'll be alright. It's just us now, see?"

The demon's vision was getting dark. At any other time, he would have enjoyed the attention the priest was giving him. But he couldn't very well focus. His head hurt, and his shoulder hurt, and his ribs hurt. But he had to tell Aziraphale how he felt. It wouldn't do any good, he was surely going to die anyway. But he wanted to. 

Instead, what came out was, "At least . . . I got to see you one last time."

A gust of wind blew a fleeting flame out.

\---

Aziraphale gripped Crowley's hand, as if to squeeze the life back into him. He couldn't die _now_.

"Crowley?" the priest asked. He gave the demon's body a small shake. "It's really quiet. I think they're all gone now."

No answer. 

Tears threatened to spill. "Crowley? _Please_. Come back to me," Aziraphale cried. 

Why did he feel like he lost something invaluable? Something - someone - he could never replace? He leaned forward, brushed a lock of red hair away from Crowley's face. He pressed a kiss to his friend's forehead. "I . . . I love you," he tried. 

Nothing. 

He _had_ been reading too many stories to believe that would work. Aziraphale cried openly now, his tears being swept away by the wind. The wind was unbearably loud. Could it _quiet down?_

"Oh, God," he muttered into Crowley's chest. There was no beat. "Why couldn't you spare him? Why?"

No answer, yet again. He seemed to never get his answers. A moment passed, maybe a minute. There was a flash of light in front of his eyelids. Now it was _lightning_ too? He should probably find somewhere comfortable to go.

Aziraphale let out a shaky sigh, opening his eyes to move. The sight that welcomed him sent him back a few feet in horror and awe. The golden glow around Crowley's body strengthened the further Aziraphale backed away, as if it were glad for the space to stretch out. It was _blinding_. He'd never seen such a light. It was . . . unearthly. He attempted to shield his eyes, to see anything, but to no avail. 

Then the glow was gone. Aziraphale blinked rapidly, slowly regaining his vision. The wind had stopped. It was quiet, that much he could tell. From what he saw _earlier_ , he was fairly certain he could be hallucinating the moving body in front of him.

It was a man, with tattered clothing and long, red hair. His hands were raised in front of him. There were no claws, no horns, no scales. Aziraphale stood slowly, peering at him with uncertain eyes.

Then the man turned to face him. "Aziraphale!" he said. "It's me, Crowley!"

The priest blinked. He blinked again. Cautiously, he approached. "That can't be," he whispered. Though there was something eerily familiar about the beautiful man in front of him, something he couldn't quite place. 

"Well, I _was_ dead. Guess I have you to thank for that - not being dead, I mean," the redhead said quickly. He stepped forward and took Aziraphale's hands. His voice was gentle as he spoke. "Aziraphale . . . it's me. Look."

He met his eyes. Though they weren't serpentine anymore, they were the same beautiful gold he'd become so fond of. "Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale breathed. Warm arms engulfed him. "I'm so glad you're alright. But how -"

He could feel the low rumble in Crowley's chest as he chuckled. "I'll tell you sometime. After this gets sorted."

"Right," the priest said, content to stay in the former demon's embrace. He leaned back, just to look at him. Crowley's calloused hands came up to his face, caressed it. He was really quite beautiful. 

"Aziraphale?"

"Yes, my dear?"

"Can I kiss you?"

Aziraphale blinked. _Absolutely!_ his brain said. He should probably say no, as a priest and all. _Oh, bugger it,_ he thought, bringing their lips together. Crowley made a surprised noise and brought his arms around his waist, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss. 

"Oh!" Aziraphale squeaked. 

Crowley look at him curiously. "What?"

"Your tongue!"

"My - oh," Crowley said, flickering out his forked tongue. "This old thing? Looks like God likes to play around, eh?"

Aziraphale blushed, lightly thwacking Crowley's arm. "You wicked, wily thing! Oh, I'll get used to it."

Crowley laughed. It was a great sound. "Let's go, lamb."

"Go where?"

"Well I got a few people to introduce you to!"

Together, they head out into the new spring sun. 

**THE END**


End file.
